by Alyson Noel
“And we sincerely hope she turns up dead, because that’s what she deserves for lying to us all these years! RIP, bitch!”
Madison froze. She felt like she was about to be sick.
She looked to her fan in the hideous sundress. Surely she’d jump in to defend her. But she didn’t. Nobody did. And that was when Madison realized they weren’t there to memorialize her. They were there to condemn her and all the lies she’d told through the years.
“I can’t believe what a phony she turned out to be,” someone said.
Another chimed in, “Well, she may be a fake, but I still like her movies.”
“I’m not surprised,” said a girl in an off-the-shoulder T-shirt. “Everything about her seemed bogus. I heard she gets tons of Botox, and those aren’t even her real eyes—they’re contacts.”
Botox? Madison shook her head. She was eighteen, what the hell did she need with Botox?
This had been a mistake. If someone recognized her now, it wouldn’t end well. She ran a serious risk of being attacked by the mob, and from what she could see, there wasn’t a single person willing to jump in and help.
She stood on shaky legs, determined to make a quick getaway, when someone shoved into her so hard, it nearly sent her crashing into a huge poster of herself. Under any other circumstances, the scene would be comical. As it was, Madison was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.
“You okay?” a girl asked.
Tentatively, Madison nodded. She wasn’t used to feeling so vulnerable, and she hated every moment of it.
“Tragic, isn’t it?”
Madison turned. The girl was probably around her age and had long brown hair, styled in long, beachy waves. Same way Madison often wore hers.
“All that time I spent admiring her.” The girl scowled. “I can never get that time back.”
Madison was incensed. She’d made the movies they loved, promoted the products they clamored for. She’d allowed glimpses into a lifestyle they all dreamed of living. What more did she actually owe them?
“Really?” Madison spat. “That’s your idea of tragic? Maybe you should try stepping away from your Instagram feed long enough to read a newspaper so you can see what real tragedy looks like.”
The second it was out, she was overcome with regret. But it was too late to walk it back.
Enraged, the girl spun on her and unleashed a tirade of hate that left Madison with no choice but to get the hell out of there as fast as her ankle allowed.
She limped toward the Jeep and had just swung open the door when a hand caught hold of her. The fingers pinched at the spot where the tracker had been ripped from her arm.
The moment sent her mind reeling back to the two previous times, at Night for Night and in Joshua Tree, when some unknown attacker had come out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind.
She whipped her body around. It was broad daylight, on a crowded street. She would not go down easily.
A scream rose up her throat, only to die on her tongue when she locked eyes with a guy holding a T-shirt bearing her image.
“Fifteen dollar,” he said.
Madison stared in astonishment and fought hard not to laugh. It was one of the more surreal moments of what had become a very strange life.
Above her picture was the word Wanted. Below, it read: MaryDella Slocum, goes by the alias Madison Brooks. If seen, contact LAPD Trena Moretti.
Unfreakingbelievable. The world had known for two days, and a T-shirt had already entered the marketplace. It was capitalism at its best.
“I’ll give you six.” She reached for her wallet.
“Ten,” he shot back, looking offended.
“Seven,” she said. “Best and final.”
After a moment of false deliberation he agreed, and Madison climbed into the Jeep and drove away from the scene. Her crumpled image on the seat beside her, she went in search of Tommy Phillips.
FIFTEEN
THINK A LITTLE LESS
By the time Aster and Ryan made it to Ojai, it was too dark to locate the trailer. After a string of dead ends, Ryan booked them a room at the Ojai Valley Inn, so they’d have a nice place to sleep before they tried again the next day.
“Separate beds?” Aster stood inside the doorway, overcome with shyness as she nervously surveyed the room.
“Didn’t want to assume anything.” Ryan shot her a cautious look. “Also, I’m respecting your wish to take things slowly.”
At the time, Aster had been sure she’d never be able to sleep with Ryan lying in the very next bed. Turned out, she was so exhausted from the day and all that she’d been through, she was out the moment her head hit the pillow and didn’t so much as stir until Ryan returned the next morning with a large bag from the gift shop and a small tin bucket filled with two cartons of fresh orange juice.
“Supplies.” He tossed the bag onto the bed and handed her a carton of juice.
Aster twisted off the top and took a long, thirsty swig.
“They left the juice outside the door, along with this.” He tossed a copy of the LA Times onto the bed.
Aster stared at the front page. The headline—Who Is Madison Brooks?—blazed across the front page. The byline, of course, was Trena Moretti’s.
Quickly, she skimmed the article. It was basically a recap of everything Trena had revealed on In-Depth Sunday night, with one notable addition.
“Do you think Trena is working with Layla?”
Ryan drained his OJ, then came to sit beside her. “What makes you say that?”
Aster stabbed the paper with an unvarnished nail. Her rigorous schedule of salon appointments had taken a hit, but in light of her situation, she no longer cared. “Remember the newspaper article we saw, the one that mentioned two dead and two injured in the fire?”
Ryan nodded.
“She mentions it here. I mean, I guess she could’ve found it on her own. Just makes me wonder, that’s all.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Layla?” Aster scrunched her nose in distaste. “Mostly I miss Javen, and my parents. But I won’t take the risk of contacting them. I just hope once this is over, I can find a way to explain.” She fell silent, her fingers idly picking at a thread on the sheets. “Okay, fine. I miss Layla too.” She heaved a grudging breath. “It feels a little weird to be left out of the loop.”
“Don’t you think maybe they got notes too, and that’s why they haven’t contacted you?”
With a shrug, Aster folded the paper and pushed it to the floor. She was sick of reading about it. Sick of Trena recycling the same old stories that never failed to drag Aster through the mud. She nodded toward the bag. “Souvenirs?”
Ryan laughed and reached a hand inside, retrieving a matching set of his-and-hers hotel logo T-shirts. “Thought it might be nice to at least change our shirts. There’s a couple toothbrushes and toothpaste as well, along with a few other essentials. I figured we could shower, order some breakfast from room service, then head out and try to find that trailer.”
“What if there is no trailer?” The words hung between them.
“You think Roland was lying?” Ryan stood uncertainly before her.
Aster shook her head. “It’s just—it’s a trailer, which means it’s mobile. So what if it’s no longer there? What if the reason we couldn’t find it is because it no longer exists, or she moved it somewhere?”
“Are you saying you don’t want to try?” Ryan’s voice was tentative.
Aster bit down on her lip to keep from crying. She didn’t know what she was saying. All she knew was she was caught in a spiral of panic, and when that happened, nothing good ever came of it. She needed to stop thinking so much, stop overanalyzing every little detail, and just go down the list, item by item. “I’m running out of time,” she said. “And so far, I’ve got more questions than answers.”
In an instant, she found herself wrapped in Ryan’s arms. Her cheek pressed against his warm chest, as he whispered a string of assurances into
her ear.
Against her better judgment, she melted against him. It felt good to have someone looking after her, caring for her, putting himself on the line for her. Ryan had gone above and beyond. He’d proven himself in more ways than she’d ever expected or even required.
“When this is over,” he started.
But before he could finish, Aster pulled away and dabbed at the tears that had spilled onto her cheeks. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t project into the future. It’s too uncertain for me.”
She rose to her feet and headed for the shower, her own words reverberating in her head.
The future was uncertain. And yet she felt like she was speeding right toward it in a car with no brakes. There were less than two weeks before her trial began, and at the end of it, a lifetime spent in an orange jumpsuit seemed likely. If they locked her up, she might die a virgin. Her once amusing adolescent fear would come true.
It wasn’t the reason she paused short of the bathroom. Fear was always a reliable motivator, sure, but in this case, Aster couldn’t think of a single good reason for waiting any longer than she already had.
Ryan was only a few feet away. He was gorgeous, kind, supportive, and patient. He was the only one she’d ever wanted to fully share herself with. And yet, because of her, they’d wasted an entire night sleeping chastely in separate beds.
From where she stood now, it seemed like a terrible waste.
Slowly, she turned and extended a hand. When he met her gaze with a questioning look, she said, “You know, there’s a serious water shortage out here.”
He stilled, as though afraid of misinterpreting her words.
“In which case, it’s probably best if you join me. You know”—she grinned bravely—“for conservation purposes.”
In a flash he was beside her. “You sure?” He cupped her cheeks with both hands. The look he gave her told her he truly wanted the decision to be on her terms.
She was about to respond with another dumb quip about the drought, but the earnestness she found in his expression saw her pressing her lips against his, leaving no room for doubt.
“No point in wasting any water then,” he said, and sweeping her onto the bed, he slid his body over hers.
SIXTEEN
SISTER GOLDEN HAIR
Finding out about Tommy was easy. He’d made quite a name for himself while she’d been missing.
Getting ahold of him was another matter entirely. He’d recently moved into a swanky new building that was too risky to even try to approach. So Madison took a chance and called the PR department at his record company. Posing as a reporter for Rolling Stone, she was surprised to learn he already had an interview scheduled that day with a writer named Dahlia. For the first time in a long time, it seemed the universe was working in her favor. She asked if they could move the meeting up a few hours, and just like that, it was done. Clearly, Tommy was eager to make it happen. Madison wondered what he would think once he discovered what she really had in store for him.
Despite her determination to put her plan into action, Madison wasn’t fully convinced it would result in the desired outcome. Still, she was in desperate need of a friend. And since no one qualified outside of Paul, she was left with no choice but to go after one of the very people who stood to benefit from her discovery the most. She just hoped she could convince Tommy not to reveal her whereabouts before she was ready.
In the end, she’d make it worth his while. Still, there was no guarantee he’d agree.
She roamed the aisles of the record store where the reporter was supposed to meet Tommy, searching for him from behind her dark lenses. Tommy had exactly the kind of lean, sexy look Madison would go for if she wasn’t, well, Madison Brooks. Sure she’d kissed him, and while it’d been fun while it lasted (and while she wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to repeating it), it was little more than a harmless flirtation. Or so she’d thought. The moment she’d gone missing, Tommy hadn’t hesitated to brag about it to just about any tabloid willing to listen.
While she had every intention of confronting him on his eagerness to sell her out, for now she brushed it aside. She needed to stay focused and in character. She took the role as seriously as those she was paid millions of dollars to portray.
She spotted him over in the alternative rock section, where he casually rifled through the stacks as his gaze darted around.
His fingers skipped through a thick row of vinyl until he found something of interest and retrieved it from the pile.
When was the last time she’d actually stalked a guy?
Or, more appropriately, when was the last time she’d had to?
Madison had grown so used to being hunted it was nice to play the predator for a change.
Favoring her bad ankle, she worked her way toward him. No use in pouncing unexpectedly, when it was far more fun to catch his eye from across the room and work a leisurely flirtation until they ultimately found themselves standing next to each other.
Did Tommy like blondes? She tugged at her wig, deciding she’d yet to meet a guy who didn’t.
“Nirvana’s Nevermind?” She nodded toward the album cover. “If you don’t already own it, you should buy it. I guarantee you will not regret it.”
The grin he gave her was nothing short of dazzling. He pulled his lips wide, showcasing a display of white teeth straight enough to imply they might’ve once been behind braces—while just crooked enough to suggest he’d lost the retainer a few years back. Madison lingered on those teeth, relieved to find they bore absolutely no resemblance to the overly perfect porcelain veneers of every Hollywood actor she knew. She took it as proof she’d been right about him. Normal teeth, normal guy. She just might be able to trust him after all.
“Are you—?” He cocked his head, hesitating in the way of a guy who didn’t want to be mistaken for flirting. Was he really dating Layla, or was he just trying to appear respectful?
“Dahlia.” She lifted her chin and favored him with a watered-down version of her own world-class grin. “Nice to meet you, Tommy.” She offered a hand, pleased to find he received it firmly in his.
Tommy rubbed his lips together and glanced nervously around the room. “So,” he said, “I’m new at this. Where should we go?”
Madison took a moment to look him over. “Surely you’re no newbie.” She shifted her weight between her flip-flop and her boot. “Not after spending the bulk of the summer as the tabloid king.”
She was pleased by the way he flushed in response. It showed a respectable level of shame for the part that he’d played.
“Not sure I’d refer to Rolling Stone as a tabloid,” he said, barely able to keep the excited gleam from his navy-blue eyes.
Madison felt guilty. Setting him up seemed almost cruel. The next moment, the feeling passed, and she said, “How about we go for a drive?”
Tommy ran an uncertain hand across his chin. A moment later he’d agreed, and they were just leaving the store when his phone began to ring.
He paused in the sunlight and peered at the screen.
Madison hoped it wasn’t someone from his record company, or worse, the actual writer from Rolling Stone.
“If that’s your girlfriend, you might want to get it.” Madison’s voice was peppered with amusement. “This could take a while.”
Tommy shook his head and let the call ring into voice mail. Turning to her, he asked, “Who’s driving?”
Madison studied him. She’d accidentally left her keys with him the night she was taken, only to have her car end up outside Paul’s office with her purse locked in the trunk. Was Tommy somehow responsible?
What she said was, “I ask the questions. You drive.”
She was relieved when he readily agreed. Last thing she needed was to drive Paul’s car for any longer than necessary. He was probably in search of her at that very moment. Hell, for all she knew, the car had probably been outfitted with some kind of tracking device.
A chill skittered across Madison’s fl
esh. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t bothered to consider that. It was the sort of sloppiness that could bring the whole thing crashing right down. Paul was a pro when it came to deception, which meant Madison couldn’t afford to be anything less than vigilant.
Tommy was staring. She’d been silent too long.
“So where you parked?” she asked, her skin sheening with sweat as he deepened the stare.
“How’d you hurt yourself?” He motioned toward her ankle.
“Balance beam accident.” She shrugged. “It happens.” It was an obvious lie, but at least it worked to make him laugh. “Is that really what you wanted to ask?”
Tommy chewed his lip. “It’s just—”
She waited.
“You remind me of someone.”
Her breath hitched in her chest.
“Can you do me a favor and . . . I know this sounds weird, but can you just like . . . take off your glasses?”
“Seriously?” She stood frozen before him.
He nodded. “Sorry, but yeah.”
She pressed her lips into a thin, grim line and did a mental countdown from three. “Well, okay then.” Without another word, she lifted her glasses onto her forehead and peered at him through a pair of dark brown contact lenses. “Would you like to see my ID too?” She shoved a hand into her oversize bag. It was the sort of bluff she couldn’t afford to lose. If he said yes, she was screwed.
She retrieved the cheap nylon wallet and slowly pried it open. It was a game of chicken she was determined to win.
“No, you know what, it’s fine.” Tommy flushed and waved it away.
Madison waggled the wallet before him. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better about getting into a car with a strange girl who’s at least half your size.”
Tommy gave an embarrassed laugh. “No.” He shook his head. “Really, it’s okay.”
Madison dropped the wallet back in her bag and shuffled alongside him as they made for his car.
